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An Open Letter to My Abuser

"Family" doesn't always mean family. Sometimes the people we love are the ones who hurt us the most.

By Marissa DoverPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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I'm scared. I'm scared of being happy, I'm scared of opening my mouth, I'm scared of crying, and most of all, I'm scared of you. I love you, but all you do is hurt me. Even when you don't mean too, it's like I don't matter anymore. I can't understand why.

Please, tell me why. I beg of you. Did I do something? Was I never good enough? Do I remind you of her? My mother. I know she has hurt you, but have I? You say I'm just like her which hurts more than anything. I'm just like a "woman" who abandoned her kids and made sure they felt worthless? How does that work? I know you hate her, but why do you hate me? I'm trying. I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me.

You're the only family I have left. Despite everything, I would hate to see you go. I almost lost you once. I can't go through that again. I'm scared of being alone. You have made me feel like I deserve this. Like it's all my fault. I couldn't bear to lose you and have to blame myself for the rest of my life.

I mentally and physically can't take this anymore. My scars on the outside have healed, but what about those on the inside? They're still open wounds. Day by day, they get more in-depth. The pain gets harder to handle. Crying won't help anymore.

I know this isn't you. Your addiction has changed you, but what do you expect me to do? You tell me to get over it, but how? Even if I wanted too, I'm still forced to deal with your nonsense. It's been ten years. Enough is enough. Please listen to me.

Stop making this about you. You blame me for all of your problems. You can't own up to anything you say or do without putting part of the blame on someone else. I have cried immensely in front of you. I have tried to get you to understand, but you aren't willing to listen.

You let your embarrassment prevent you from standing up. You contradict every single thing you say. You get angry when I talk about my depression, my anxiety, et cetera. You make me feel sorry for having problems. You can't even deal with your own. You judge me for being human. Why? You're no better.

You act like you're the greatest thing to ever happen to me. You had your moments, and I appreciate it, but you have put me through so much. I'm exhausted. I'm afraid to tell you how I feel because I don't want to be the one who gets blamed for my feelings. You know it's not my fault.

I see you as two separate individuals. My father, and a monster. My father would never treat me this way, but you? You have no shame, no compassion, and no respect towards the only person in your life still willing to help you. Do you think I have to do this? Do you think I have to stay? No. I do it because I care. I know what it's like to feel worthless. Like I'm impossible to love. I could never treat someone the same way you treat me. I'm just trying to understand why you think it's okay.

You say "I'm sorry," and sometimes you can't even do that. Are you afraid of losing your pride? You already have. At this point, I think you only say it to shut me up. I can't tell anymore. I've heard it so many times that now it's unbelievable. I need you to see my pain.

You walk by my room, and I feel like I have to be quiet. I'm afraid you're going to hear me. I cry in solitude. I hide my panic attacks. I don't tell you about my nightmares. What's the point in doing this any other way? I'm deathly afraid of opening up to you because every time I do you kick me down further than I was before.

In your eyes, I'm weak. You're right. I'm tired. I wish I could sleep all of my pain away. I'm the happiest when I'm dreaming. I wake up and want to cry because I know the day won't be easy. Whether we argue or not, the damage has already been done.

I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I was never good enough for you or my mother. I think about what I could have done differently. Maybe if I did better in school. Perhaps if I had been less annoying. So many "Maybe's." I don't know what to do with them all.

I want things to improve, but at what point do I have to give up? I can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. I'm sorry, but I don't know what more I can do. I'm mentally drained. I couldn't get much more depressed than this. How do you not see that?

I'm slowly ebbing right before your eyes. I don't know how much more I can take. I need help. I'm not okay, and I hope that one day you see that before it's too late.

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About the Creator

Marissa Dover

Hello, My name is Marissa. I'm an 18-year-old who loves to write. It's one of the few things that calms me down. Although I am in college for Business, I would like to share my knowledge and experiences with as many people as possible.

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